A Characteristically Imperfect Reunion
by MissDizzyD
Summary: "The beseeching look fades away to leave something that Derek can't ever remember seeing on that face before. Malice. Pure malice. Like the nogitsune has everyone right where they need to be." Derek finds the nogitsune in the woods. Or maybe the nogitsune finds him.


**A Characteristically Imperfect Reunion**

"It's me, Derek, I swear," Stiles says calmly, creeping out of the shadows of the forest with a lithe grace that the real Stiles could never imitate. Derek knows that much for sure. Whenever the boy tries to be sneaky he usually ends up braining himself on the nearest surface. "Please Derek, trust me." The thing that masquerading as Stiles adds. Admittedly the act is good. There's just enough of the original nervousness that Stiles usually carries around with him, the right amount of new bravery that had appeared since their first meeting in the woods, that world-weariness that had emerged from watching his friends die. But...

"No," Derek replies, matching the nogitsune's composed tone. That's what gave it all away. Sure, Stiles was brave and smart and every inch the hero Derek would never be but he's still a kid. He would still be scared by the prospect of possession, no matter how much experience he'd had with the supernatural. "You're not him. I know him. You're not him."

Stiles' eyes go doe-wide, expression taking on a pleading edge that nearly has Derek rushing over to him, pulling the kid in for a hug because out of every possible scenario he'd imagined, coming home to a possessed Stiles running around town trying to kill people in his sleep... Well, that wasn't even on the list.

Suddenly the beseeching look fades away to leave something that Derek can't ever remember seeing on that face before. Malice. Pure malice. Like the nogitsune has everyone right where they need to be and everything is going precisely according to plan. It moves quickly, backing the werewolf against an old oak tree before he can do more than take a shallow breath. It's something plucked straight out of one of Derek's fantasies. Stiles would tire of waiting around, finally decide to take the initiative, wait until Derek was alone... And press their mouths together, softly at first but it would transform into something hotter and wetter, wilder and unpredictable... just like Stiles.

But when the nogitsune uses Stiles' body to press up against Derek's front, it's all he can do not to force his way free. His skin crawls with the need to writhe away from that thing pretending to be Stiles because Stiles – the _real_ Stiles – deserves a say in this. Derek won't take that choice from him, not like...

Kate. Never like Kate.

"You know," the nogitsune says, "He's screaming at me right now-" Derek cuts it off with a swift but far too gentle elbow to the ribs. "Ah, ah, ah! Shhh Derek, it's okay," the creature coos, responding in kind by wrapping Stiles' long, dextrous fingers around the wolf's throat and squeezing, a manic look in its eyes as it taps its temple with the other hand. "He's screaming, yelling at me to let you go. He didn't even do that when I was killing Scott. No, he sat in the dark recesses of his mind crying when I did that." Its fingers tighten, forcing a choked sound from Derek's throat. "What's so special about you? Why do you evoke a reaction when his pseudo brother got none? I wonder."

"I'm gonna kill you," Derek grits out, struggling against the uncharacteristically strong grip at his neck.

"Not without killing the boy, and you all love him too much to do that," it says with small chuckle, dimming thoughtfully after a second. "That's it, isn't it? Oh, he's going to have a field day!" The nogitsune barks out a laugh loud enough to send birds flying from the trees. "You're both so... so _oblivious_, it's almost funny."

"What are you talking about?"

"The poor human and the pining werewolf. Oh this is precious. You're so in love with each other," it says, all too casually, as if the statement alone didn't rock the foundations of his world. "But you didn't tell him. Oh baby," a finger trails down Derek's cheek, scratching through his scruff, "He'll be... _Mad jealous_," It whispers mockingly, before sealing their lips together in a rough, angry kiss that ends with Derek's lower lip between Stiles' teeth. Derek can't help the pitiful moan that escapes him because this is all so _wrong_. There were supposed to be fireworks and fuzzy feelings and a million other things that people should get with their first proper kiss with someone they love, if not for Derek's sake then definitely for Stiles'. Stiles who's still trapped somewhere inside that head of his, screaming and crying and fighting to get out with every breath.

"I'm sorry," Derek mumbles, making an executive decision. He whirls the two of them around, bashing Stiles' head against the bark hard enough to knock him flat unconscious. There'll be a bump. Probably even a bruise. Maybe a little blood. And Derek will _never_ hear the last of it.

...

Deaton's just closing up the clinic when Derek arrives, hauling Stiles out of his car easily and ignoring the feeling of soft exhalations at his shoulder.

"I see you found him," Deaton raises an eyebrow as he unlocks the door and gestures them inside. "Though I don't know what you expect-"

"Cut. The crap." Derek growls, pushing Deaton towards his filing cabinets of herbs and plants. He points towards Stiles. "This is my mate," he snarls, relishing in the widening of the vet's eyes. Mating bonds are rare; maybe he thought Derek was too growly and unpleasant to bond with anyone, let alone a boy like Stiles. "Get it out of him. Or I'll tear your spleen out."

"I'll do my best, but not because you threatened me," Deaton says coldly, moving to open the bottom draw of his desk and take out six thick, black candles. He lights each one in turn then looks back at Derek. "This will be unpleasant, you may want to leave."

Apparently glaring _is_ a sufficient means of communication sometimes. Great to know.

...

Ten minutes later and Derek is really regretting his decision to stay in the room. Deaton is standing on the metal slab with one foot either side of Stiles' waist chanting in a complicated, sibilant language that Derek doesn't recognise. It's completely dark apart from the six candles, five of which are placed in a rough circle on the floor around the still out cold Stiles; this sixth Deaton is using to drip molten wax onto his patient's forehead like it's no big deal.

Derek stands in his spot by the door willing himself to stay calm and not interfere as he'd promised.

The candle in Deaton's hand is dropped to the floor unceremoniously, replaced instantly with a bundle of herbs that smell sharp and unpleasant in Derek's nose. He frowns against it, staring as the vet sprinkles the herbs onto Stiles' chest, coming to a natural end of the chanting.

Stiles' head is thrown back, a brilliant white light exploding from his open mouth and lighting up the entire clinic. The sound of scared animals reaches Derek's ears as the light fades and the candles blow out, leaving them in total darkness. Everything is still for a moment before a terrified shriek tears at Derek's eardrums. He instinctively runs for Stiles, ready to protect him from anything that could hurt him even if that's himself.

Then the lights come on and he sees the candid look in Stiles' wide open eyes. The confusion, the fear, the sadness...

"God, I've missed you," he groans, closing his eyes and bending over to rest his forehead to Stiles'.

"I missed you too, Sourwolf." Is his answer, followed by a quick, clumsy kiss to his cheek that's 100% Stiles and 100% perfect. "_My_ Sourwolf." And the boy sounds all too gleeful about that, but Derek just nods and breathes in their mingling scents thinking that, yeah, maybe this wasn't the best reunion scenario, but they got there eventually.


End file.
